


And Thus Thanatos and Midas Fell In Love

by ShadeOfAzmeinya



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:59:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeOfAzmeinya/pseuds/ShadeOfAzmeinya
Summary: It starts because you’re you. You’re a crooked tarot card deck that just reads death, handed out with cold eyes and colder heart.It starts because he’s him. He’s the flash of gold that’s too bright you have to close your eyes even though you still want to look. He’s the softness and warmth of climbing into bed on a cold day, surrounding yourself in comfortIt ends because there's still love in your heart, stored away where you thought no one could find it, but he and his stubbornness did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Ryan has a mental breakdown? i know thats sort of vague but... do what you want with it i guess.
> 
> This whole thing is an experiment in writing style so I hope it pays off.

It starts because you’re _you_. You’re a crooked tarot card deck that just reads death, handed out with cold eyes and colder heart. You’re the fear of being followed in the middle of the night, the constant looking over a shoulder. You’re the crack of a gun and the few precious seconds you have left of life before the bullet hits right between your eyes. 

It starts because he’s _him_. He’s the flash of gold that’s too bright you have to close your eyes even though you still want to look. He’s the softness and warmth of climbing into bed on a cold day, surrounding yourself in comfort. He’s a siren with his trill of laughter and expert look that seems to pull your heart towards him and you want to hate him but you _don’t_ and that’s where it starts. 

It starts when you fire your first gun. When you take your first life. Some back alley with a stolen gun and stolen cash, tucked away in your pocket next to the photo of the person you’ve been sent to kill. The person who now lays limp on the ground, hole in his head.

Its starts because you feel nothing. You felt nothing as you stepped over the body to get the second half of the money you needed. You were supposed to feel something right? You suppose that should scare you. But you’re tired and you need the money and you can’t bring yourself to care.

It starts because you never bring yourself to care after that. It’s a job that makes you tired but never scared, never guilty, never anguished. Just a little cold. Just a little numb. 

It starts because that wasn’t where it ended. You killed again. You grew a mask. You grew a rep. You got _good_ at your job of death. (What an awful career, death. You learn to pity Thanatos, pity the reaper. You learn that their robes are heavy, their weapons too sharp).

It starts because he looked right at your mask, then looked past it, and somehow found your bare eyes buried in there. And you startled because there wasn’t fear in his own green eyes. There was caution but also curiosity and for the first time in a long time you feel like you don’t have to run.

It starts because you were once soft. You were once young and once still had a heart full of love. And this boy, those bright eyes, that soft mouth, goes digging through your chest to pull it out. Digs through the muscles in your heart, bores through the white matter in your brain, until all the softness is on the surface for him to hold, him to see, his to keep.

It starts because you want to hate him. You want to so bad but you _can’t_ so you hate yourself instead.

It gets worse because he’s so soft. He’s so small in your arms, thin and lanky and so _breakable_. And thoughts run through your head of how easily his neck would snap. How quickly his blood can run. How his head can shatter like his stupid sunglasses under your hands. 

It gets worse because you stop touching him, not trusting your hands that deal death like his deal gold. You can’t kiss him without seeing blood, can’t hold his hands without feeling broken bones, can’t say his name without hearing the shot of a gun.

It gets worse because he grows worried.

It gets worse because you’re the one putting that look of sadness behind his eyes.

It gets worse because he gets mad.

It gets worse because you get scared. You finally feel the fear you should’ve felt years ago and its awful and drowning but its better than letting your blood soaked hands ruin his shirt, his hair, his gold, his smile-

It gets worse because you realize you love him.

It gets worse because you realize he loves you. 

It gets worse because he gets fed up and he drags you into a kiss, full and deep and god you’ve missed this, you’ve missed him, and you want to give in, you want to give him everything and you love him and you love him and you love him-

It gets worse because you pull away because then there’s only blood and bones and guns and knives and violence and you, you the mask, you the reaper, you’re Thatanos and Hades and Charon the ferryman combined into a twisted black skull and you can’t breath because this is the only life you’ve ever known and you can’t drag him into this. He’s bright, he’s the sunshine, the Persephone, the birth of new flowers, the beauty shaped by the gods and given life-

But then he hugs you. And he stays. And he says he forgives you. And he stays. And he shows you his hands are stained in red too, so lets hold our hands together and let the red mix with each other. And he stays. And he whispers he still loves you and he always will love you and that you’re beautiful and he doesn’t care about the death you see because you’re still you under the skull. And he stays. And he sees your face, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips, your hair and not the skull, the ropes, the scythe. And he stays.

It gets better because you cry.

It gets better because he holds you while you cry and you tell him that you love him and you kiss and its so soft. It makes you think of home, something you’ve never known but you feel like you can build it in him. In his arms, in his breath, in his heart, you want to build home.

It gets better because he tells you he wants to build home in your arms, in your breath, in your heart too.

It gets better because you promise to not grow distant again and you promise it with all your heart because you love him with all of your heart, every muscle, every nerve, every impulse, every pulse. 

It gets better because he stays.

It gets better because you stay. 

It gets better because he loves you.

It gets better because you love him.

It gets better because you learn bear the weight of the reaper’s robes. You learn how Hades was able to rule the underworld. Persephone is all he ever needed, and Gavin is all you ever need. 

It ends because he drives away all the blood and bones and guns and there’s just soft and comfort and home and kisses.

It ends because there's still love in your heart, stored away where you thought no one could find it, but he and his stubbornness did. 

It ends because you’re happy. And you can tell from the crinkle in his eyes and the pitch of his laugh that he is too.

It ends because you’re _you_ and he’s _him_ and you’re _together_.

And that’s all you need.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on my [tumblr](shadeofazmeinya.tumblr.com)!


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